He blinks once, slowly. Luca squeezes his hand.
“Stubborn bastard,” Luca murmurs, and it comes out affectionate. “Scare the life out of us, then lie around and get the good stuff, huh?”
The nurse pushes the meds. The ventilator’s rhythm steadies as his fight drops out by degrees. His eyelids lower. Before they close, he looks at us one more time.
His eyes slide shut. The lines stop jumping. The room goes back to machine-sound and soft beeps. Nurse Martinez secures the tube and checks the drains with efficient hands.
“Good timing,” she says quietly. “You can stay another minute if you’d like.”
Luca doesn’t let go of his hand. I rest mine on the rail and watch his breathing on the monitor.
When the nurse comes back in a minute later with a look that says enough, we step back together.
“We’ll be outside,” I tell her.
She nods. “I’ll come get you if anything changes, but I expect he’ll sleep through the night.”
We walk out into the hall without speaking. At the threshold, Luca stops, scrubs a hand over his face, and lets out a breath that shakes once at the end. I clap his shoulder. He knocks his knuckles against mine, a small, hard thank-you, and we head back to the waiting room to stand guard again.
Chapter Forty One
Olivia
I’m on the floor by 8:00, badge clipped, headset checked, smile set. The hotel lobby smells like citrus polish and coffee, and the buzz of the casino never stops—slots chiming, dealers calling out, the soft drag of chips on felt. Normal. I have to be normal.
Around 4:00, Caterina texted: He opened his eyes for a minute, but they had to sedate him again.
I told her not to come into work today. Go to the hospital. She argued half-heartedly for about three messages, then gave in with a red heart and a thank you. She would’ve been useless with her mind on her family anyway.
Morning Ops departments huddle in the staff corridor behind the sportsbook: Housekeeping, Front Desk, Banquets, Security, Gaming. I go through the motions. It’s hard to believe that this is technically only our first week open. The grand opening feels like forever ago.
But the world goes on. Whatever is happening, the guests need staff, and staff need management. So here I am.
“Any escalations from overnight?” I ask of everyone.
“Couple of noise complaints on twenty-one,” front desk says. “Handled.”
“Lost wallet at the high-limit bar,” security adds. “Returned.”
“Buffet is short a line cook,” F&B says. “I’ve got a floater coming in at 10:00.”
“Okay,” I say. “Rotate a server from the lounge until the floater gets in. Are the guests on twenty-one still with us?”
Front desk nods.
“Then let’s get someone to walk the hallway a few times tonight. Proactive beats reactive.”
They nod, scribble, and peel off to their stations. I hang back a second, breathe, then step into the casino proper.
The lighting is always set to flattering. Even now, with a gray morning beyond the doors, everything inside is warm. I check the baccarat pit—two tables running, one VIP I recognize from the grand opening. I signal the pit boss to send over a fruit plate in twenty minutes.
Across the aisle, a slot attendant is helping a woman in a pink tracksuit who swears the machine ate her twenty. I wait, then step in to reassure her when the attendant needs a manager override. Pink Tracksuit leaves smiling and holding a voucher. Small wins.
I haven’t heard from Roberto. I pull my phone out twice, then put it away. He didn’t promise he’d text. He didn’t promise anything, and Iknow he stayed at the hospital. He has his own concerns to take care of right now.
Still, I thought—no. Expectations are a trap. Antonio is the priority. I told myself I wouldn’t make this about me in the middle of a crisis. I meant it. I still do. Mostly.
By 10:00, I’ve handled a spa scheduling conflict, an HVAC complaint from a corner suite, a lost earring that turned up in a cocktail napkin, and two requests for late checkout that I approve.
